Freefall
by Deiter Ginsberg
Summary: Mac is out riding his bike when suddenly he's hit by car - that falls out of the sky. The boy driving it isn't from around here, and although Mac wants to help him get back home... he wouldn't mind having some fun beforehand. Heavy shota/yaoi/slash! R
1. Chapter 1

**Freefall  
Chapter 1  
**  
Mac stared up at the golden yellow sun streaming through a blue sky filled with mountain-sized clouds. As the clouds streaked across the expanse, they resembled racecars - racecars made out of cotton. He was only vaguely aware of the stinging sensation coming from his left temple, or of how the superheated asphalt was blistering the back of his head and neck. Somewhere to the left of him, his bicycle's chain clicked rhythmically as its wheels continued to spin, long after having come to rest on its side in the road.

"Oh my god! Is he okay?"

"I saw the whole thing from across the street! Is everyone alright?"

"Quick! Somebody give me the number for 911!!"

Mac groaned loudly, bringing his arm up to shield his eyes from the sun. He could feel the blood pulsing through his brain. Every part of his body hurt.

Faces were peeking in at him through his makeshift awning, trying to pry his arm off his eyes. A woman, a man, an older man, that same woman again. . . they were bickering amongst themselves about how to best treat a kid that had just had an airborne car use his small body for a landing strip.

"NO!" someone shouted over the fray. "Uuh. . . it's fine! He's with me!"

A new face this time. Bald, black glasses, kinda pale. A space alien?

Without warning, Mac felt himself being lifted onto his feet, a hand gently dusting him off as he was propped up against a shoulder. Still dazed, he looked up.

It was the space alien. He had Mac's arm over his shoulder and was leading him away from the crash, offering quick, nervous reassurances to all the witnesses that had gathered around.

"I'll. . .uuh. . . I'll take him home. He lives right down the way. He's the the neighborhood autistic, shouldn't be out of his mothers sight. Shame on you. . . uuh. . . _Danny_. Worrying your poor mother like that!"

As soon as they were out of eyesight, the pair rounded a corner and Mac was eased down against a brick wall. Beady eyes peeked at him over the top of a pair of large sunglasses, looking concerned.

_Okay, _Mac thought. _Not an alien. A strange-looking kid._

"Are you alright?"

The boy spoke with a thick accent Mac couldn't immediately place. He was looking him over, fingers turning Mac's head to either side as he checked for abrasions. Mac thought he might have peed himself, but couldn't be sure.

"I'm _so_ sorry," the boy continued, producing a piece of cloth from his pocket and dabbing Mac's forehead. "I had to make an emergency landing and my personal means of transportation doesn't maneuver well in altitudes of less than five hundred feet." Pulling a small medi-kit from his pocket, the boy began to treat Mac's wounds. "I was aiming for a nearby park but caught a thermal on the way down. The engine had already idled, so there was nothing I could do."

The boy held Mac's hand as he bandaged a laceration on his palm. Coming around, Mac could tell that the boy had warm, soft hands. He was being very gentle, which Mac liked.

Pocketing his glasses, the boy cradled Mac's chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting Mac's face up until their eyes met. "You're pretty banged up, but I think you'll be okay." He gave Mac a reassuring smile. Once again, Mac felt himself hoisted up against the boy's shoulder. A strong arm coiled around his waist, steadying him.

"I'm Numbuh. . ." the boy paused. ". . .erm. . . I'm _Nigel_, by the way. Nigel Uno. Sorry about the rather bumpy introduction. I'm going to take you to my base and get you fixed up."

Mac was focusing on Nigel's hand at his hip. His head slumped against the boy's neck. When he didn't respond immediately, Nigel began again.

"And. . . whom might you be?"

"I'm Mac," Mac gurgled finally, eyes lolling about. "And I think I have brain damage."

* * *

Author's Note: Re-posted after fixing a multitude of spelling and grammatical errors. Used to be called 'Crossover Calamity, Part 1', but the title got changed due to extreme suck. I'm keeping the first couple of chapters relatively the same, but from there on in it's an entirely new story.

Please read and review. Any more spelling/grammar errors I overlooked, PLEASE tell me.


	2. Chapter 2

**  
Freefall  
Chapter 2  
**

"This is Numbah One of Sector V, calling any available KND operatives. Does anyone read me?"

Mac kept the ziplock bag full of ice pressed to his forehead as he listened to Nigel attempt to hail assistance on his 2x4 radio for, like, the _hundreth time_ that hour. Absentmindedly, Mac chased his straw around the rim of his oversized milkshake, jabbing the cherry to the bottom as he waited for his new bald friend to stop talking to static.

"This is Numbah One of Sector V," Nigel repeated. "Hailing all operatives within transmission range. We have a four-thirty in an unknown sector, and--"

"A four-thirty?" Mac asked.

"A downed operative," said Nigel quickly, pressing his hand over the receiver. "We're not allowed to say what condition we're in over unsecured airwaves, or how much damage we've sustained. Four-thirty just lets them know that we need priority assistance."

Mac nodded like he understood and Nigel went back to barking orders into his transmitter.

"I repeat, last known coordinates were IMBED 406-642-00698. Requesting Priority 1 recovery team immediately. Blast, can anyone hear me?!"

Nigel brought the small transmitter down hard on the table, causing it's bendy-straw antennae to wobble and Mac's bacon and eggs to shake on their plate. The waitresses and a few of the diners looked up, but quickly went back to their jobs and meals with annoyed grunts.

"Where's IMBED 406 whatever?"

"Four-oh-six is the last known quadrant," Nigel mumbled, massaging his closed eyes in frustration. "Six-four-two and the other long number are codes for the latitude and longitude. We can't list specific coordinates, lest bad guys pick up our transmissions. Last thing I need right now is Stickybeard or the Toilenator stopping by for an unannounced visit."

Mac slurped noisily on his malt as his feet dangled from his seat, not yet long enough to touch the nasty old carpet beneath their booth. The smoke coming from the tables around them was irritating his sinuses, but he was paying too much attention to Nigel to notice.

The older boy's red turtleneck sweater was torn and sweat-stained. They had been walking on foot for what seemed like forever before Nigel realized he didn't know where they were.

"But I was _sure_ Headquarters was this way!" he had protested with each unsuccessful twist and turn deeper into suburbia. "I wasn't all that far from Sector V when the ambush happened! We should at least be able to see the top of the treehouse from here. I don't understand it."

At first, it had all sounded like the ramblings of a kid's overactive imagination, but once Mac came around they started sharing stories to pass the time. Mac learned all about Nigel's time in the KND - the missions they went on, the team, the treehouse, and how Nigel was the leader of it all.

It was unlike anything Mac had ever heard of. In many ways it was even more fantastic than the stuff that went on at Foster's. Candy pirates, adult tyranny, hamster-powered treehouses. . . it all seemed a little far-fetched. But Mac had to admit that it all sounded pretty neat.

"So how's that shake treating you Champ?" Nigel said, snapping Mac out of his stupor. He smiled sheepishly. The older boy had for some reason taken it upon himself to be a surrogate big brother to Mac. It had been kind of nice at first, but now it was beginning to get on Mac's nerves.

_He's not THAT much older than me_, Mac sulked to himself. "Uuh, fine. You not hungry? You've barely touched your burger."

Nigel sighed and shook his head, pushing the plate of untouched cheeseburger and half-eaten fries towards Mac. Mac couldn't help but notice that, in addition to being bizarrely pale, Nigel Uno was also dangerously skinny. He looked like the kind of guy that didn't eat or sleep for days at a time.

"The last thing I remember," Nigel thought aloud, "I was taking enemy fire in a dogfight over Section A-91. It was just routine Mr. Boss drones and such. . . then there was a brilliant flash of light, and I must have been hit. They must have thought I was done for, because I didn't hear any more shooting after that. Then I went down." He sighed in frustration, massaging his temples. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"You hitting me with a car."

Nigel choked on a fry. "Erm, hehehh. . ." He tugged at his turtleneck to relieve some pressure. "Well. . . _before_ that."

"Somebody yelling, 'Hey, watch out, somebody's gonna hit you with a car.' And then, you hitting me with a car."

Nigel's forehead connected with the table with a soft _thud_. "Do you remember anything _else_?" he murmured.

"Uuuh." Mac thought back. "Come to think of it, I think I remember a flash of light too. I just figured it was the sun coming through the clouds or something." He took another long swig of his vanilla milkshake. "And then you hit me with a car."

Nigel rapped his long fingers on the table, seemingly lost in thought. "Strange," was his only reply.

Mac shrugged, digging out the cherry from the bottom of his glass and licking it clean. He rolled it around on his tongue, lapping at it playfully before sliding the entire thing in his mouth, snapping it free from its stem as Nigel watched. Had Nigel not had his sunglasses on, Mac could have seen his eyes widen. Mac did, however, hear Nigel gulp loudly.

"Is something wrong?"

"What? No. Nothing. Tired, is all." Nigel stretched exaggeratedly to prove his tiredness.

"Yeah," Mac chuckled. "I guess it's been a long day. Can you believe it's only -- HOLY **CRAP**!!"

Everyone in the diner turned to stare at their booth. The soda Nigel had been drinking right then sprayed out of his nose and all over the table.

"What?!" Nigel finally croaked, his nasal passages stinging with carbonated soda.

"It's almost five o'clock!!" Mac bolted from his seat, nearly knocking over the table as he grabbed hold of Nigel and tugged him with surprising force.

"Herriman's been on a rampage these last few weeks! If I'm even a few minutes late, I'll lose Bloo!"

"Who?" Nigel managed as he was yanked along like a ragdoll.

"Hey kid," a grouchy old waitress shouted after them. "You gonna pay for that food?"

"What? Oh. . ."

Fishing around in his pockets, Mac couldn't find any cash on him. In too much of a hurry to care, he thrust his small hand into Nigel's pocket, eliciting a loud "_Eep!!"_ from the startled older boy. Fumbling around in Nigel's pants (much to Nigel's crimson-faced shock) Mac pulled out a wad of cash, flinging it in the air like confetti and shouting for the old bag to keep the change as they knocked over four patrons on their way out.

Nigel's feet barely touched the ground as he flew behind his mousy-haired tether like a kite on a string.

Still blushing from the unauthorized personal invasion, Nigel silently scolded himself for having chosen that day of all days to go commando.

* * *

Author's Note: Spelling corrections. If I missed any, please let me know. Also, sorry for those getting email updates. I have to shift my stories from Google Docs to Microsoft Word before uploading it here, and sometimes the transition screws with the paragraph formatting. I keep having to go back and take chapters down to correct 'em. Gomen, gomen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Freefall**  
**Chapter 3**

"Mr. Herriman, this is Nigel," Mac gasped though labored breaths. "Nigel. . . Mr. Herriman."

Exhausted from their four-mile sprint, Mac didn't have the energy needed to pry Nigel's hands from around Mr. Herriman's throat. The kid's grip was like a damn vice. Throwing his whole body into it, Mac thought he had maybe given the giant rabbit half a nanometer of breathing room as he tried desperately to explain the situation to his confused new friend.

"He's. . . he's not. . . (violent panting) . . . He's not. . . a monster. . .Nigel." Mac collapsed on the painted wood veranda, winded. "He's. . . well okay, _technically_ he _is_ a monster. . . but he's okay. _Really_."

Eyes still wild with the shock of seeing a 6-foot tall talking bunny in a butler suit, Nigel glanced from Mac to the terrified rabbit he was choking and then back to Mac again. Slowly, he relinquished Mr. Herriman from his iron-clad grasp.

"Oh. . . uuh. . ._wow_." Nigel took a step back, hands in the air. "Wow. I am _so_ totally, _profoundly_ sorry. That was. . . that was rude of me."

Mr. Herriman coughed and sputtered, wheezing for air as he dusted off his dapper tweed vest.

Grabbing up Mr. Herriman's top hat from where it had fallen to the ground when he first began to strangle him, the young bald boy dusted it off and sheepishly extended it to the clearly flustered rabbit. Mr. Herriman snatched it, still breathing heavily. His eyes were vein-streaked and red with anger.

"I will have you know, _sir_," Herriman blustered, his moustache frayed and frizzled. "I have _never _thought favorably of the company young Master Mac keeps. . . but _you_. . . you are by _far_ the most unruly and ill-mannered!"

With that, the gigantic rabbit produced a silk glove from his coat pocket, slapped Nigel across the face with it, and turned into the house with a huff. Plodding back into his office, Mr. Herriman slammed the door. Hard.

Nigel stared blankly at the space that the enormous, grouchy Easter Bunny had occupied only a moment before. He rubbed his cheek where the monster slapped him, lips moving without making any sound.

Finally, he found words.

"What in dear God's name was _that_ thing?!" Nigel yelped.

Mac sat up, startled. "That. . . That was an imaginary friend."

"A **what**?!"

"An imaginary friend," Mac repeated, standing. "You know. . . kids make 'em? They come in all sorts of wacky shapes and colors? Friends. . . that you. . . imagine?"

Nigel gestured violently towards Herriman's office door. "How the bloody hell was _that_ imaginary?! We could _both see it_!!"

Mac looked puzzled. "What? You've never seen an imaginary friend before?"

"Well, _yeah_. . . but I was, like, _five_ at the time! And I didn't actually _see _anything!!"

Nodding knowingly, Mac patted Nigel on the shoulder, trying to calm him down. "They must not have imaginations in France," he cooed.

"I'M ENGLISH!!" Nigel railed.

"Okay okay!!" Mac's hands shot up in a sign of defeat. "Whatever. Same place basically. Just. . . . settle down. _Man_ you're high-strung."

Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, Nigel dusted off his khakis and red sweater. It was unbearably hot, and he didn't want to be any more short with his new friend than he already had been.

"I. . . I'm sorry." Nigel muttered, resting his rump on the marble balustrade. "I guess in as long as I've been in KND, I should be used to seeing strange things by now." He gulped. "_That_. . . that just caught me off guard."

"Oh, that's _nothing_," Mac brightened up. "Herriman's not even _half_ as weird as some of the stuff we've got here at Foster's."

Tugging the enormous double doors all the way open, Mac gestured inside with a wave of his hand. Peering in, Nigel could see that Mac had been telling the truth. He nearly pissed himself.

Numbah 1's mouth hung open as a parade of monsters of all sizes and colors - fishy ones, metal ones, multiple-eyed ones, half-invisible ones, and everything in between - padded and plopped and rolled and hovered across the highly-buffed tile floors. They headed into rooms and up the long, winding staircase. There must have been hundreds in all - a cascading spectrum of size, shape, color, and weirdness. Some were downright gross. Others were downright terrifying. All were making their ways towards destinations unknown.

"Pretty rad, isn't it?" Mac beamed.

"Yeah," Nigel squeaked. "_Rad_."

"Come on! I want you to meet Bloo!"

Grabbing Nigel by the hand (_Dear GOD. . . This kid's personal space must be, like, two millimeters in radius_, Nigel thought.) Mac led the way through the dizzying array of corridors, staircases, romp rooms, TV lounges, nooks, crannies and game arcades making up the seemingly-endless interior that was Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends. After the nine-hundredth twist and turn, Nigel's shock-weary mind couldn't process what it was seeing anymore. Closing his eyes, Numbah 1 allowed himself to simply be led to wherever it was Mac was taking him. It wasn't so bad; the mousy-haired kid made for an excellent seeing-eye dog. And, for a seeing-eye dog, the boy's hands were pleasantly soft and warm.

"And just where the _heck_ have you been?!" The little blue blob tapped his foot impatiently.

Well. . . maybe not his foot. His. . . base, or whatever it was he was standing on.

"Nigel," Mac grinned proudly. "_This_ is Bloo. He's my best friend. Bloo, this is Nigel. He hit me with his flying car."

"And again, _real_ sorry about that."

"AHEM," the blue blob cleared it's throat. "I asked 'Where the _heck_ have you been?!' Herriman had my _bags packed_!! Three more minutes and I was gonna go home with a girl with horse teeth."

Mac scowled at his friend. "That's not nice, Bloo."

"What?!" the blob screeched, flabbergasted. "She had buck teeth! It's not _my_ fault she had buck teeth! Every time she said a word with an 'S' in it, I got spit all over me."

"BLOO!!"

"What?!"

"That's MEAN!"

"No it's not!" Bloo said defensively. "It would've been mean if I told you she had icky freckles and a lazy eye that seemed to have a mind of its own. Which she did." With that, Mac slugged the talking blob in the shoulder. Since the thing apparently didn't have bones, the depression left by the little balled-up fist just bounced back, regaining it's original shape.

"Yow!"

Nigel cleared his throat in hopes of alerting the pair to his presence in the room.

"Oh! Sorry Nigel."

"Who's the old guy?" Bloo said, seeming to notice Nigel for the first time.

"I'm not old. I'm ten." Nigel said in calm, even tones. "And I'm Nigel Uno. Your buddy and I got into a rather unfortunate accident, and. . . now I'm here, for some reason." He gestured around the room with open hands. "Speaking of which, I need to use a phone."

Mac pointed in the direction of a nearby wall phone. "Help yourself."

Mac watched as the boy sauntered off. Nigel had a girly sway to his hips Mac thought was funny. When he turned around, Bloo was staring at him with what would have been an arched eyebrow had the spastic little blob actually _had_ any eyebrows.

"What?"

"Uhhh-huh."

"_What_, Bloo!"

Bloo gave Mac a wide, toothy grin, his eyes turned up devilishly. "You know what."

Mac's gut sank to somewhere around his knees. He broke out in a cold sweat. Bloo's long-term memory usually wasn't that good.

"_No_," Mac hissed defiantly. "_This is not anything like that_. He ran me over, and he's just hanging out with us until he calls his parents to come pick him up."

Bloo didn't respond - instead, his grin became increasingly curled and oily. Mac grabbed Bloo semi-roughly by his sloping blue shoulders, shaking him gently as he turned his back to the boy on the phone down the hall.

"You listen to me, Blooregard Q. Kazoo." Mac hissed. "This is _not_ like what happened with Richie. Nigel's just a friend. He's just staying here until someone comes and picks him up, and nothing. . . _weird_. . . is gonna happen."

"Aww. . . why not?" Bloo grinned, despite his friend's kung-fu grip on his arms. "I thought you _liked_ weird."

Mac shot a look of death into his friend's eyes. "Bloo, _don't_. That was an accident. It was stupid, and it'll never happen again. Nigel's _not _a Richie Friend. His mom and dad are gonna come pick him up, and then he's gonna go back to France or Spain or wherever the hell it is he's from."

"Great Britain." Nigel said, standing immediately behind him.

Eeping, Mac leapt several feet in the air, landing in Bloo's outstretched arms.

"Crap! Don't sneak up on me!" Mac said, trying to catch his breath.

"So. . . what's a 'Richie Friend'?" Nigel arched an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Huh--wah?"

"A 'Richie Friend'" Nigel repeated. "What's that?"

"Oh, uuh. . ." Mac gulped, his eyes going wide. "Well, it's a. . .a. . ."

"A 'Richie Friend' is what we at Foster's like to call a super-duper ultra fantastic uuber-special new friend!" Bloo interjected loudly, smiling. "It's somebody we just met who we think is _really_ neat."

"Oh," Nigel said, his eyebrows furrowing in surprise. "Well. . . jeez, that doesn't sound so bad." Turning to Mac, Nigel beamed. "Gosh Mac. . . I'd be honored to be your 'Richie Friend'. Heck, I'm even _flattered_ considering all the trouble I've put you through."

It was all Bloo could do to keep from giggling. Mac had a small dark cloud hanging over his head.

Managing to stave his laughter, Bloo continued. "Mac. . .(suppressed giggles). . . Mac'd be _really_ honored to be _your_ Richie Friend too, Nigie."

"Then it's agreed!" Nigel chirped happily. "Richie Friends it is!"

Red in the face from containing them, an eruption of giggles finally exploded from the doughy blue imaginary friend. Nigel, haplessly unaware, coiled his long arm around Mac's shoulder in a sign of newfound friendship.

"Well that works out," the older boy said. "Because I couldn't reach anyone on the phone. My team isn't exactly keen on picking up the tab for collect calls from unknown numbers. Telemarketers and all that."

"Oh," Mac gulped, dry-mouthed. "Swell."

"Anyways, it looks like I may have to stay here a bit longer, old chap. It'll take me a few days to salvage parts for my apparently damaged two way communicator." His eyes went doe and hopeful. "In the meantime, do you think maybe I could crash with you?"

Mac's blood ran cold.

"Sure you can!" said Bloo, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "His house is plenty big enough! His mom's never home, and she doesn't really mind visitors that much. Heck, you can even stay in my old bunk bed. I give you permission."

"Great! It's settled."

Mac just gurgled incoherently.

"C'mon, new Richie Friend," Nigel exclaimed, collapsing Bloo into another fit of uproarious laughter. "Let's head home."

Coiling his arm tighter around Mac's shoulders, the two made their way out the tall oak doors.

"Be careful Nigie," Bloo called after them, still purple in the face from laughing so hard. "Mac likes to play rough!"

The doors closed, and the sounds of mad laughter echoed over the polished tile floors, following the two young boys as they made their way down the stairs. Looking for all the world like a wet cat as they rounded on the sidewalk leading towards his house, Mac desperately wished that he could somehow un-imagine the little blue hellspawn.

* * *

Author's Note: This is easily one of the longest chapters I've yet done, and there's a pretty good chance that I missed a spelling or grammar error. If I did, leave me a comment in the reviews section or shoot me an email.


	4. Chapter 4

**Freefall  
Chapter 4 **

"_This is bonkers_!"

Silhouetted by the silvery light of the old desktop monitor, Numbuh One rubbed his bloodshot eyes in clear exasperation. Mac pouted sympathetically from the door, keeping watch in case Terrance decided to get up for a glass of water. Or to bug them.

"I just don't get it!" Nigel exclaimed, a little louder than Mac would have liked. He extended his splayed fingers towards the bleary computer screen, looking as if he wanted to choke the life out of the boxy old Macintosh.

"What's it saying?" Mac whispered, hoping Nigel would take the hint and lower his voice.

"It's not even registering the bloody location!" Nigel screeched, the hint clearly not taken. "I can't even get it to pinpoint the round-about area! It keeps saying "Did you mean such-and-such?' or 'Are you sure you spelled it correctly?'. Sodding Google Maps. . . nothing made in this country ever does right."

And then, as an afterthought. "Oh. . . sorry mate. No offense."

Mac smirked wryly. "None taken."

"I just don't understand it," Nigel groaned, pushing away in his chair and massaging his bloodshot eyes. "Either Google AND MapQuest are wrong, or. . ." He let his arms drop to the chair's sides.

"Or. . . what?"

"I don't know."

Content that Terrence was fast asleep and snoring like a chainsaw in the room down the hall, Mac closed the door and locked it, resting his back against the wall. He hadn't toweled off too well after his shower, and his shaggy head of hair was an unruly mess. Feeling a cold drip slither down his neck, Mac groaned and grabbed a dirty towel from the laundry bin, trying furiously to towel his hair as dry as he could get it. When he got done, he looked like Medusa.

Nigel smiled at the boy's wild hair. Mac arched an eyebrow. Then, noticing his reflection in a nearby mirror, he began to giggle. Which in turn made Nigel giggle.

In the small, dimly-lit bedroom, Nigel could feel his cheeks warming up. They had been hurting him most of the evening. He had been smiling all day and his face muscles weren't used to the exertion.

Mac grabbed up his orange soda from the table and sat cross-legged on the lower bunk. He was clearly illuminated by the light of the computer screen. Nigel couldn't help but notice (for the thousandth time) their differences in sleeping garb. Nigel was wearing his usual long-sleeve pajamas, and Mac was in a muscle shirt and boxers.

Mac's underwear had 'I HEART F.B.' in big letters across the back. Nigel had first noticed whenever Mac had left to get their drinks, and privately confirmed it every chance he got from then on out. Why he kept secretly glancing whenever Mac turned to leave the room, he wasn't sure. He found himself wanting to know who 'F.B.' was.

Maybe it was just muscle fatigue, or the slight chill in the air, or the relative intimacy of the small living space. . . or maybe he was just tired. Whatever the reason, Nigel became aware that he was blushing. He hoped Mac couldn't see well enough in the dark to notice.

"I think we should retrace our steps," Mac said at last, shaking Nigel from his stupor.

"Huh?"

"Wherever you hit me with your car," Mac elaborated. "We should go back to the scene of the crime. Retrace our steps. Try and see if anything jogs your memory."

"That's actually a great idea!" the older boy exclaimed. And then, replaying Mac's words in his head. . .

"It wasn't a _crime_." He glowered. "I took damage and had to crash land. I didn't hit you intentionally."

Mack snickered. "Well, the jury's still out on that." The room was small enough that he could reach out his leg and nudge Nigel's knee with his big toe.

For some reason, the friendly gesture sent a shiver down Numbuh One's spine.

"But anyway," Mac continued, oblivious. "I was doing some thinking. What if you had blacked out? Like, during the dogfight or whatever? And your plane just happened to carry you for a while before you woke back up? That would explain how you got so far away from your base."

Nigel arched an eyebrow in surprise. "True."

"Yeah! Pilots lose consciousness all the time," Mac beamed, proud of himself for having came up with it. "You wouldn't remember, and it might account for that weird white light you said you saw."

"But it wouldn't quite explain why I'm not finding Sector V's tree house on any map."

Seeing Mac's face turn downcast, Nigel tried to brighten up. "But it's the best idea we've had so far. And you're right - retracing our steps would probably be an enormous help. If it's alright with you, I'd like to start early tomorrow, if we can."

Mac's face brightened again. "Sure! I'll pack us a lunch and we'll head out before anyone wakes up. Tomorrow's an off day, so I don't have to worry about school."

Nigel smiled bashfully. Mac's dimpled grin, he noticed, was rather infectious. Seeing Mac happy made _him_ happy for some reason.

"So, uuh. . ." Mac drummed his knuckles on the mattress, a thin curl of hair drooping into his eyes. A faint, mischievous smile crept over his face "You want top bunk or bottom bunk?"

"Oh. Uh. . . either's fine, really."

"You sure?

Nigel couldn't tell for certain, but something in Mac's eyes seemed vaguely pleading.

"I. . . can literally do either. I'm not partial." Nigel mustered a polite, if decidedly awkward smile.

"Hmm," Mac tapped a finger to his chin, thinking. "I definitely think you should be on top. You're bigger."

In the back of his head, Nigel wondered if the correct etiquette weren't the other way around - that the taller person was supposed to get the bottom bunk. He felt sure that he'd once been invited to a sleepover where that was the case. However, not wanting to be disagreeable and honestly not caring which he ultimately ended up with, Nigel simply smiled mildly and shrugged. "Top's fine. I like top."

Mac couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Top it is then. Nightie."

Without another word he rolled over on his side, facing the wall away from Nigel. Curling into a tight ball, eyes wide and bright with dimples at full mast, Mac tried desperately to feign off unwanted thoughts.

Nigel sat for a while just studying the boy in the dark, his eyes following the gentle curves of Mac's small body. First his tangled mop of brown hair, then down the silvery outline of his neck and shoulders, tracing the bumps in his vertebrae through the sheer cloth of his muscle shirt.

For what must have been the fifth time that night, his eyes worked their way down to the 'I HEART F.B.' stenciled across the back of the boy's underwear. A little too quickly he spun in his chair and went back to furiously typing at the keyboard, trying as best as he could not to notice his own red reflection staring back at him from the dimly-lit screen.

* * *

Author's Note: I've decided to move the story from the Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends section to the Codename KND section, primarily because the chapters will increasingly be from Nigel's relative perspective from here on in. I wasn't satisfied with how the original story kind of centered on Mac only, so two or three chapters down the road, it's about Nigel.

And, _I know_. . . this is technically a crossover, and as such it should be in the designated crossover section. You know why it's not? Because the crossover section BLOWS. You know who actually browses the crossover section of this site? Dangerous people. People with rare and disquieting mental illnesses. People who want to see a Twilight / Harry Potter slash where Harry and Edward make violent love on the Quidditch field. No sir. I work too hard on my stories and spend too much time agonizing over punctuation and grammar to be lumped in with the 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer teams up with Dr. House to solve mysteries' lunatics.

Also, spelling and grammar errors, correct me. Please.


	5. Chapter 5

**Freefall  
Chapter 5**

Mac bit down on Richie's collarbone. Hard.

"Egads Mac!" The blonde boy seethed out in pain. "Bloody _hell_ you like to play rough!"

Giggling furiously, a very drunk Mac straddled the boy's thighs, nuzzling into Richie's neck. He kissed at the wound his teeth had just made, sending shivers down the older boy's spine. They were in a darkened room. Neither was particularly dressed.

"Mph. . . Jeezus. . ." Richie said when their lips had once again parted, running soft, pale hands over Mac's tummy. "You're a fun drunk. You know that?"

"So are you," Mac grinned back, his breathing labored. He swooped down and stole another kiss, soft lips pressing roughly against the other boy's. His mouth tasted like Mike's Hard Lemonade.

Mac rested his outstretched arms against Richie's naked chest for support. Evilly, he pinched and twisted the older boy's nipples, hair falling down over bleary, drunk eyes. His great mop clung to his neck with sweat, and a bead of perspiration trickled down his chest. Richie smoothed it out with a finger just as it reached Mac's belly button.

"You know Mac," Richie purred as Mac ground his hips into the boy's crotch. "Eventually we're gonna have to up the anty a bit."

Emboldened and smiling evilly, Richie hooked a finger beneath the elastic of Mac's tightie-whities. Mac closed his eyes and groaned, the bulge in his underwear jumping with a violent throb.

"Richie," Mac whispered, eyes still clenched tight. "I. . . I want to, but. . ." he gulped. "You _know_ we can't."

To this, Richie chuckled nastily in the dark. "Awwee... are we still holding out hope that we'll find a nice girl to bring home to Mummy and Daddy? One with a nice pair of tits and big baby-making hips? A girl that'll finally turn you on?"

Mac glowered. "You don't have to be mean."

Richie leaned in to nibble the spot just behind where Mac's earlobe diverged from his jaw - a hot zone that Richie had come to deem the "Shudder Point". He grinned as little spasms shook the smaller boy's frame. He kissed the boy passionately, cupping Mac's rosy cheek as he held him close.

"You already know you are. There's no doubt in your mind or mine. Doing it would just be the icing on an already elaborate, multi-tiered, fruit-filled gay cake."

Mac paused for a second. His eyes seemed to search the darkness for something, lost in thought. Finally, he turned back to Richie. His face was resolute, his tawny-colored eyes stern.

He took a deep breath. "Okay."

Richie grinned. Just as the two moved in for another kiss, a black shadow moved beneath the door crack.

"Hey Mac! Me and Blake Superior have played all the Ultimate Frisbee we can play for one day. You and Richie found those preserves yet?"

The pantry door swung open, letting in a flood of brilliant white light. Bloo stood with his hand on the door, mouth agape. Blake Superior towered behind him.

For a few seconds, everything was frozen in time. Nobody moved. The scene might as well have been a sculpture display in a wax museum.

Then Blake Superior fainted. His head hit the linoleum tile with a _crack_, and he was out cold.

"Oh SHIT! _**GROSS!**_" The shout filled the confined food pantry. Mac rushed to hide his nakedness behind a half-empty sack of flour. Richie, clothed only in boxers with his pants around his ankles, sat up and pinched the space between his eyes, making no move to clothe himself as he sighed in frustration

"You could have given us, like, another ten minutes." He whispered.

"Sick!" A pale Bloo railed. "Oh God. . . I'm gonna go find a lighter and burn my irises off now!"

With that, the little imaginary friend darted off, stepping over an unconscious Blake Superior as he half stumbled, half sprinted from the room.

Mac breathed out, sinking to the floor, the half-empty sack of flour still covering his crotch.

"That could have gone better." he said, speaking to the empty space in the door Bloo had been standing in.

"Yes," Richie groaned, massaging his temples. "Yes it could."

* * *

Mac woke up.

Panting, clutching his chest as his heart rattled violently in his ribcage, his eyes furiously scanned his environment. He was back in his room, in the dark.

_A dream_, he sighed. _A bad dream._

The small boy rubbed his face, throwing back his sweat-soaked bed sheets. His boxers felt funny. Wet. Or sticky.

He looked down at them.

"Okay," he whispered in the dark, pinching his eyes shut. "Maybe not a _bad_ dream."


	6. Chapter 6

**Freefall**  
**Chapter 6**

"Okay. So this is where you hit me with your car."

Mac glanced back at Nigel, grinning as he waited for a response for what had since become their running gag. Nigel rolled his eyes, flashing the mousy-haired boy the finger.

They were standing at the intersection of Cowan and Lorraine, surveying the extensive damage done to the colorful flowers covering the intersection's small city-funded beautification garden.

It looked as if a tank had ran over the metal railing, plowing through the hedges and tulips, before barreling over the little concrete embankment on it's way towards destinations unknown. Chunks of burnt black rubber and warped metal littered the ground. The trunk of an old elm tree had been badly singed, with several of it's branches scattered along the churned dirt beneath it's canopy.

"Looks like they towed it." Nigel groaned, kicking a small stone out of his way.

"Okay, so you came down like this," Mac made a long slanting gesture in the air with his hand. "I turned right before we collided. There was a long stream of black smoke trailing from your car, so it looked like you came down from the east somewhere. Wait. . . which way is east from here? I can't see the sun."

Nigel produced a small metal compass from his back pocket.

"_Mac_," Nigel hissed, waving the smaller boy over. "Get a load of this."

The little brass needle was spinning around wildly, rattling violently beneath the glass.

"Weird," Mac breathed. He lifted a hand to shift the compass for a better look. In doing so, he inadvertently grabbed hold of Nigel's hand.

"What do you think it means?" Mac said, his face inches from the compass. When Nigel didn't answer right away, he glanced up. The older boy was blushing.

"What?" Mac asked.

"No, nothing." Nigel pried his hand from the boy's soft fingers, pocketing the compass and clearing his throat. He slid his black sunglasses up his nose, cheeks still somewhat reddened as he busied himself with his two-by-four walkie-talkie.

"Uuh, yes. . . this is Numbuh One of Sector V, hailing any available KND operative. Emergency priority." He rolled his eyes. "Not that anyone can hear me."

"What makes you say that? I hear you just fine."

"Aak!" Nigel nearly dropped the communicator as it spoke. He fumbled in the air to keep the transmitter from hitting the ground, catching it an instant before it did. Mac crowded around him as he depressed the button to speak.

"Come back?"

"Jeez Numbuh One, what's your deal?" A face emerged through the static on the small screen. The pudgy boy's aviator goggles glowed yellow as he downed a small bag of Cheetos. "It's two-by-four technology, Boss Man. Very sensitive. No need to shout."

"Numbuh Two, thank _god_," Nigel sighed and smiled with relief. "Where the hell has everyone been? I've been putting APB's out for the past two days. I thought this thing was broken!"

"Two days?" The boy called Numbuh Two arched an eyebrow, wiping his Cheeto-stained fingers on his bright green shirt. "You near a gas leak or something? You've been gone, like, an _hour_. We figured you went out for ice cream or something."

Nigel and Mac looked at each other.

"An hour?" Nigel hissed. "How could a team not notice their leader has gone missing? I've been MIA for nearly three days! The Model T's crash alone should have sent out a distress signal!"

"Crash? You crashed?"

Nigel pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Will you get with the program Numbuh Two? We have a four-forty in an unknown territory. Get Moon Base on the line and send out a recovery team, STAT."

"Alright alright. . . sheesh."

Numbuh Two's face disappeared from the screen momentarily, only to peek back at an awkward angle a second later. "Who's this, by the way?"

He was looking over at Mac. The question sounded a bit more syrupy than Nigel would have liked.

"He's nobody," Nigel growled. Then, seeing the hurt look on Mac's face: "Oh. I'm sorry. This is Mac. He's a friend." Nigel rolled his eyes, smiling sheepishly at the younger boy. "I hit him with my car."

"Oh. Okaay." The 'okay' also came out syrupy. Out of view, Numbuh Two's fingers pounded away at a keyboard.

Moments later. . .

"Uuh. . . Numbuh One? Are you, like, dicking with us or something?"

Nigel glared into the screen. The look would have killed face-to-face. "Do I _seem_ like I'm 'dicking' with you Numbuh Two?"

The boy on the screen held his hands up in surrender. "I'm just saying. . . the scanner shows you being about twenty yards from the base. Just wondering if this is your attempt at a practical joke."

"How can that be?" Nigel whispered. His knuckles whitened around the receiver. "Numbuh Two, are you sure? Are you doing a readout of the Model T, or a bio-scan?"

"Bio-scan. Your signature is, like, walking distance away. If you're serious, you should be able to see the treehouse from there. Easily."

For a time, Numbuh One didn't move. Mac placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"What is it, Nigel?"

"What's up, Numbuh One?"

Nigel's eyes scanned the air in front of him, looking for something in the recesses of his mind.

"Numbuh One?"

"_Wormhole_," Nigel whispered, almost inaudibly.

"Huh?"

"A wormhole," he repeated, standing to full height. His eyes were wild. He looked frightened.

"I didn't get carried by a wind draft. I'm not lost." Nigel swallowed dryly. "I'm in another _dimension_."


	7. Chapter 7

**Freefall**  
**Chapter 7**

_"Why are we doing this again?"_

Bloo, the bottom-most rung on a living ladder, bobbed and wiggled beneath the immense weight saddling his shoulders. He danced about as the frigid rain pelted him through the tall open window. Each gale of wind sent a shiver through his feetless base, causing the entire totem pole of bodies above him to jerk like one of those inflatable mascots you see out in front of used car dealerships.

Standing on his shoulders, Coco, Wilt, Eduardo, Cheese, Nameless Background Housemates #7 through #16, Mac, and the lower half of Nigel's torso teetered like a tower of wooden blocks in a mostly-done game of Jenga. With each gust of wind, everyone made the perfunctory I'm-about-to-fall-to-my-death noises one would be expected to make in such a situation.

"No... REALLY," Bloo called up a second time. _"Why are we doing this again?"_

"We're... _ggn..._" began a voice outside the window, somewhere up beyond Nigel's legs. "We're erecting a... _fffn_... a... satellite transmitter... to effect communication with Sector 5 by means of a cross-channel frequency-"

_"JUST HURRY UP!"_ Shouted the totem pole in unison.

"Alright alright!"

Nigel's Doc Martins, planted firmly on either side of Mac's neck, did a painful little jig on the younger boy's collarbone, indicating something was being bolted in place on the tiled roof above them. Mac grunted in pain. Outside the window, the tops of trees glinted up at him like rows of angry green teeth.

. . .

The housemates had assembled the living ladder at Mac's request after a full weekend's worth of insanity.

Nigel had barricaded himself in Mac's bedroom and promptly set about making a pig sty out of it, drawing diagrams and bringing in scraps of lumber, rivets, tin cans, broken umbrellas, discarded car parts, tupperware lids, and god knows what else from gods knows where he got it all. All through the night, Mac had kept his head wrapped up in his pillow, struggling to sleep against a steady backdrop of revving power drills and angry hammering. The bedroom door continued to slam at all hours of the night as assembled chunks of stuff were routinely dragged down the hallway towards destinations unknown. Finally, on Sunday, just when the boy's frazzled psyche could stand no more, the noises stopped and Mac was led outside by a pair of soft hands cupped over his eyes. When they were removed, a giant satellite dish (which appeared to be made out of a junkyard) loomed down at him.

"Www-www-wwh..." came Mac's startled reply. He was standing in the thing's shadow, still holding on to the older boy's fingers.

"You like it?" Nigel asked, almost giddily.

"Is... is that my mom's spaghetti strainer?"

"That magnetic ion-dereverberation sink? Yes. You like it?"

Numbuh 1 waited patiently. For all of three seconds.

"Oh, you're speechless," Nigel gushed, gripping the younger boy's shoulders and giving them an affectionate squeeze. "Well, there'll be plenty of time to admire it once it's on the roof."

"The roof?" Mac blinked.

"Yes, the roof."

. . .which is how they all wound up in the long hallway in the uppermost storey of Foster's.

Why that freak rainstorm had waited until just as they were getting ready to secure the satellite before opening up, no one will ever know. Mac had Nigel's ankles in a death grip. He was trying his hardest to hold on while still maintaining his balance. His shirt and pants were soaked through. Rain streamed into his eyes.

_"Are you done yet?"_

_"Just about!"_ Nigel called down, having to nearly scream over the clatter of the storm. _"Wait! Wait a moment... aaand... THERE! Got it!_ Alright, team! Hold steady! I'm coming down!"

Now, in hindsight, nobody had really planned out the order of bodies making up the ladder.

And perhaps (again, in hindsight) Mac hadn't really thought about who'd be climbing down who, and when, and how. But because of the weird twisting position Nigel had needed to get into while mounting the satellite dish to the roof, he was having to climb down in such a way as to make Mac's heart skip a few beats.

First, after some negotiation, the scrawny boy twisted his body the rest of the way around and swung down gently, so that he was on his knees.

His knees, by the way, were on either side of Mac's face.

Nigel's crotch was a fraction of an inch from Mac's nose.

And Mac's cheeks were, by this point, rather red and hot.

The mousey-haired boy squeaked, though not to where anyone could hear him. Mac tried not to breathe. He tried not to look. He failed miserably at both. The tip of his nose brushed it, and suddenly it felt like his entire face was on fire. His cheeks and forehead tingled with blood.

But as soon as it happened, positions changed and new things started happening. Suddenly, Nigel's bony frame was slithering down his torso. Long, bare legs hooked around the small of Mac's back. Mac felt his tiny hands go up instinctively to the boy's waist, cradling him against him, holding Nigel's smooth, taut belly against his face. Against his mouth. His lips.

"Wooh!" Nigel exclaimed, gingerly letting go of the window ledge with one hand, then the other, until he was braced firmly against Mac, sharing space with him on a large, spiny creature's shoulders. "Quite a balancing act that was, eh?"

Nigel grinned. Then, peeking over the tops of his sunglasses, he leaned out and caught sight of Mac's face.

"M-Mac?" he said, worry in his voice. "Are you alright?"

The boy's hair was a wild mess. The sides of his neck, where Nigel's legs had straddled, were red. The boy's sweet, babyish face was redder still.

"Mac? Did I hurt you coming down?"

Mac's eyes were wild. He still had iron-clad hold of Nigel's hips.

At first, Nigel thought Mac had stumbled. His footing seemed to go out from beneath him, and the smaller boy's body went crashing against his with a great deal of force.

Then Nigel noticed he was being kissed.

The smaller boy's arms were looped tightly around his neck, holding Nigel in place. For the first time in his life, hair was in his eyes. Mac had caught him off guard - mid-breath, actually. Nigel might have realized he wasn't getting any air had he not been so surprised by the suddenness of it.

His eyes were wide. He was watching Mac kiss him.

"What the heck is going ON up there?" Bloo called out in pain from somewhere far below. But the kissing was still going on, and that was far more distracting. Suddenly, Nigel's hands were tangled in the boy's soft hair. He found himself kissing back.

"Guys! Is the satellite up or not?"

They broke off. Nigel's lungs felt collapsed from lack of air. Mac looked at him, eyes wide with terror.

"We're, uuh..." Nigel swallowed. "Yes! Yes, we're coming down!"

And with that, the boys began their wordless descent down to the soaking-wet carpet below.

Once they'd reached solid ground, the totem pole gradually began to dismember itself. With all the friends once again assembled, Nigel thanked them for all their help, letting them each know just how grateful he was while Mac stood bashfully by. With fond waves and words of good luck, the imaginary friends began to disperse to their respective bedrooms.

Nigel waited until the last friend had turned the corner.

He stood on tiptoes, listening intently for the footsteps disappearing into silence. When the last one had fallen and all was silent, he rounded on the small mousy-haired boy standing by quietly in his rain-drenched, double-layered shirt. His eyes were large and timid, his bottom lip set tight, as if to prevent trembling.

Nigel pinned Mac roughly against the wall.

The kissing continued from where it had left off.

* * *

**Author's Note: **The last time I updated this was before bootcamp. I feel terrible about that, especially seeing as it's somehow my most well-received story to date. I'm _still_ getting requests to continue it after all this time! That's kind of awesome.

So, to all of you who have PM'd me about keeping it going, I hope this doesn't disappoint. I try to continue this over the next couple of weeks, so with any luck the next chapter won't take seven months to materialize.

Cheers guys. Thanks for all your support.

~Deiter G.


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